


Lessons Learned on a Slave Ship

by Tassos



Series: In Want of a Hyperdrive and other stories [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Slave Obi-Wan Kenobi, Slavery, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassos/pseuds/Tassos
Summary: A short glimpse into Obi-Wan's first years as a slave.Set in an alternate universe where on a ship headed for Bandomeer as a boy, Obi-Wan was captured by slavers.
Series: In Want of a Hyperdrive and other stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807135
Comments: 8
Kudos: 160





	Lessons Learned on a Slave Ship

**Author's Note:**

> Obi-Wan is 13-14 here.

Obi-Wan was thirteen the first time someone died because of him. 

Her name was Shaar, and she was thirteen too, and Bandir had chosen her at random from among the three other survivors. It only took a few minutes in reality but it felt like hours seared into Obi-Wan's memory. 

Bandir's cruel smile. The vibroblade. The two quick jabs to Shaar's chest. Her shock, her terror writ large on her face and screaming through the Force like a wave crashing over Obi-Wan, destroying his mental shields. Screaming, though Shaar didn't scream. She couldn't. She was choking, jerking against the hands that held her gasping for air, as her life-presence faded faded faded as she drowned in her own blood. Her eyes were open when the light finally left them.

Bandir backhanded Obi-Wan across the face so hard to shut him up. He couldn't breathe. He was sure his face had cracked in two, but that might have been his soul. The other two survivors stared at him with wide, scared eyes.

"This one will need a shock collar," Bandir said, a fistful of Obi-Wan's hair in his hand.

* * *

It turned out that Obi-Wan didn't become a farmer after all.

* * *

Bandir kept Obi-Wan after the others were sold. Said he needed training. Obi-Wan doesn't remember much of that first year besides pain.

He tried to remember his Temple lessons: Patience. But rescue never came. Meditation. But it was impossible when he was cold and hungry. Let go his strong emotions into the Force. But grief was sticky and the fading shocks of electricity though his limbs unbearable without anger to cut their sting. 

It was easier to forget them.

He learned new lessons: Silence. Unless asked a question. Head down. Lest he get any ideas. Avoid eye contact with the other slaves. Or they'd be chosen next time he slipped up.

Bandir didn't kill anyone else though. Slaves were merchandise, and he was a businessman. But slaves didn't need all their fingers or toes or tongues or teeth to turn a profit.

* * *

It turned out that Obi-Wan could learn to control his anger and outbursts after all.

* * *

Obi-Wan was fourteen (he thought) when he found himself again. Bandir had found a new favorite, a girl a year or two older with a fighting spirit that he said needed taming. He fitted her with a shock collar too, and for a moment Obi-Wan's eyes met her horrified ones, right before Bandir triggered a sting and he learned that both collars were on the same frequency.

"I'm sorry," Erta whispered to him later that night in the slave quarters of Bandir's compound. It was after dark and they were in Obi-Wan's corner where all the other slaves left him alone. There were only a dozen or so in this batch. They'd been there a month, but they hadn't questioned Obi-Wan when he turned down their overtures and turned his back on them. They'd be sent to the auction houses on Nar Shadda soon enough, and better for all of them if Obi-Wan kept to himself.

"I'm sorry," Erta whispered again, tears in her eyes. She was human, like him, and she'd been noticed for her looks. She'd spat in Bandir's face when he'd said she'd make a fine bed-slave. Obi-Wan loved her a little for that.

"I don't need you to be sorry," he said. His voice rasped. He wasn't used to speaking. 

The tears dripped down Erta's face and her shoulders shook. She couldn't quite stifle her hiccups as she fought them back, but Obi-Wan knew she'd learn how soon enough.

Watching her cry was hard. Obi-Wan felt her grief like a wave, always a wave, that he pushed away from him as if he could hold back the sea. His mental shields were solid right now, impenetrable, so strong that he shouldn't be feeling her at all. But she was right next to him, and for all that he'd learned to close himself off from the Force, it was harder when someone was right next to him. 

Bandir hadn't figured that out yet. He thought he'd beaten the Force out of Obi-Wan after his first escape attempt. He'd been so good for weeks now. Months. He hadn't slipped up once.

But now Erta was crying and her outpouring of misery was a reflection of his own. Only he was her punishment now. He hesitated, then slowly reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. Better him than the others, he thought grimly. It was only what he deserved after all. 

Erta leaned into him, and he into her until their foreheads thunked together, and slowly, carefully, Obi-Wan relaxed his shields, just a little. 

He was tired, so tired, and lonely, so lonely, and maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to be for a little while.

He let Erta's grief wash over him, through him, tangling with his own grief and anger and fear and pain. And when his tears stilled and they curled against each other, exhausted, Obi-Wan let go of everything else and held her hand for dear life.

* * *

It turned out that maybe Obi-Wan hadn't forgotten all his lessons from the Temple after all.


End file.
